Category Archives: Blog

I wanted to take the time today to wish His Holiness the Dalai Lama a very happy 80th birthday. May his life be filled with all the joy and love he has given out into the world.

Last week, I had the very great honor of attending a talk given by His Holiness at Southern Methodist University. I want to make sure that I do justice to the experience, so I’m taking extra time composing a post about it. Until then, you can view the entirety of his talk below.

We’ve had 12 hours of marriage equality here in the US (well, only 6 here in Harris County, Texas, where—just like when interracial marriage was legalized—local officials initially attempted to refuse to issue licenses).

There was a truly impressive amount of thunder earlier this afternoon, and I rushed to the windows in excitement because I’ve never seen a rain of toads before and that’s really something that should not be missed, but it was just regular water. Not even blood or acid or Mountain Dew or anything. I also had the presence of mind to check our safe… Our marriage license is still in there, and looks to be still valid. Then I checked my husband when he came home from work, and he’s definitely still not a woman. Finally, I went to YouTube and watched the sexiest scene of a woman to ever be filmed (Miranda Otto in full armor riding a warhorse into battle against the armies of Mordor), but while I have to admit it was really, really hot, I still don’t have the desire to touch anyone’s boobs—not even Miranda Otto’s.

So… I guess the world isn’t ending, and my marriage hasn’t dissolved, I haven’t suddenly become “gay married,” and I’m still straight. Having collected all of this empirical evidence, I feel pretty comfortable saying marriage equality is the best! Thank you, SCOTUS, for making me proud to be an American this day!

Many years ago, I was in a terrible car accident. I had a lot of serious injuries, but the most severe was my left arm. Torn to ribbons, there was barely enough flesh left for the doctors to staple it back together. I was lucky enough to survive with no loss of function, but it was nonetheless life altering.

Short of wearing long sleeves for the rest of my life, there is no hiding the scars, and people notice. Most are too polite to say anything, but I see their revulsion and curiosity nonetheless. A few months after the accident, however, I started experiencing a strange phenomenon among those who can’t contain their curiosity.

People ask me if my scars are art.

They ask me this because they cannot conceive of an event so terrible and traumatic that it could leave such ruin in its wake. They ask me this because they think my disfigurement must be something intentional that I willingly agreed to.

People ask me if my scars are art.

They ask me this because they don’t want to imagine someone experiencing so much pain and suffering without having any control.

People ask me if my scars are art, and it has become the prevailing metaphor of my life because when I show them my real scars and not simply the superficial ones, they do not believe they are real.

I am a survivor of sexual violence and assault, and like so many other women, when I openly speak about my experiences, I am met with disbelief and blame.

People tell me that my scars are fiction because they don’t want to imagine someone experiencing so much pain and suffering without having any control. They tell me this because they think it must be something intentional that I willingly agreed to.

But I am here. I am real. All of me is real, inside and out. I may not have chosen any of this, but I am not going to hide it because I refuse to feel ashamed—of my body or my life.